Cunning Devil

by Chris Underwood

  Saying the words made my heart rate spike. Until now it’d all been a swirl of ideas in my head; now it was becoming real.

  I put my foot down and the red needle on the dash inched higher. I raced through the streets of Lost Falls even faster than Lilian had.

  “Mills’ wife is going after the goblins,” I said. “The whole damn mountain. You said this curse was genocidal in scale. Well, the goblins are the target. She’s going to destroy them all for what was done to her boy.

  “Brandon Mills wasn’t lying. Their boy, Michael, was taken. Replaced, just like Teddy was. They think it was goblins. Hell, maybe it was. This curse, it’s the Mills’ revenge.”

  And in the darkest depths of my heart, I sympathized with them. When I found out Teddy had been taken, it had felt like hot coals being pressed into my chest. All my guilt, all my grief, it had mixed together and transformed into rage.

  I’d gone into the Mines to try to get Teddy back. But when I’d found out I was too late, I turned to other means to sate the monster inside me.

  I’d avenged Teddy. I’d wiped out the mob that’d snatched him. Who was I to stop the Mills family avenging their son?

  Except this wasn’t about me, or them, or their grief. Too many people had been hurt. Early was in danger.

  And not even I thought that every goblin under the mountain deserved to pay for one goblin’s crimes.

  “Get out of there, Early. The witch is too powerful to challenge directly. Get somewhere safe. We need to call in the troops. I know how you love to do that. We get the ghouls, and the vampires, and the goblins, and whoever else we can dig up. Then maybe we stand a chance.” I hesitated. “She’s after Lawrence. The creature you and I caught in Alice’s basement. He’s linked to the goblins somehow. Brandon Mills must’ve seen him in the back of my van when I first met him. The hag told them I’d take the creature to Alcaraz. The witch is on her way, Early. She’s going to use Lawrence’s blood to power her curse. Take him with you, if you can. But if it gets too dangerous, let her have him. She’ll kill you, Early, and she won’t even bat an eyelid. I’ve seen her handiwork close-up. She’s too far gone to turn back now.”

  I didn’t say the obvious thing. If Early did that, if he let her have Lawrence, there’d be nothing stopping her from completing the ritual. Nothing to stop her getting her revenge on every goblin under that mountain, and maybe a few more besides.

  Which Early would never allow. Even if it cost him his life.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, old man,” I said.

  I hung up and drove like Death himself was chasing me.

  I slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt outside Alcaraz’s estate. I killed the engine and stared out the windshield. My fingers tightened on the wheel.

  “Oh, hell,” I muttered.

  I stared up at the iron gate that usually guarded the estate. It wasn’t doing such a good job anymore. The iron bars were twisted up and inward, like some great hand had reached up from the earth and punched through the gate.

  I didn’t want to think about the kind of power it took to bend iron like that. It wasn’t good for my blood pressure.

  There was another vehicle parked haphazardly outside the gate. A white minivan, with Crown Mobility Services printed on the side. The minivan’s headlights shone toward the gate. The back door was open, the wheelchair ramp lowered.

  As I climbed out of Lilian’s car, I noticed the mobility taxi’s driver-side door was open as well. A shadowed figure in the driver’s seat was slumped nearly out of sight.

  Clutching Early’s shotgun, I rushed over, one eye fixed on Alcaraz’s manor. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound.

  That wasn’t reassuring.

  I came around the side of the mobility taxi, shotgun at the ready. When I saw what was waiting for me, I swallowed and lowered the gun.

  The taxi driver was a middle-aged woman with curls like a 1940s film star. She was slumped half out the open door, tangled in her seat belt.

  Her head had been twisted 180 degrees. I was behind her, but she was staring right at me, an expression of shock frozen on her face.

  I took a couple of steps back, swallowing a sudden bout of nausea.

  A vision came into my head. Early, his head twisted around, his dead eyes wide in surprise. The witch would kill him as easily as she’d killed the taxi driver.

  I could see his car parked further up the driveway, beyond the gate. He was still inside. Dead already, maybe. But I couldn’t leave here until I knew.

  I stepped through the twisted opening in the gate and sprinted for the manor.

  The door was hanging off the hinges. No sound came from inside. Heart hammering, I pressed myself against the wall next to the doorway and peered into the dark of the entrance hall. Moonlight streamed through the open door, but darkness swallowed most of the hall. The only window not blacked out was the one I’d smashed with Alcaraz’s priceless troll bone. Guess she hadn’t had time to cover it up yet.

  I swallowed. The shotgun was slippery in my palms. Once I found the witch, I’d have to be quick. My coat was lined with protective charms, and the pockets rattled with talismans and witch bottles designed to ward off witchcraft. But I didn’t rate any of it worth a damn against Mrs. Mills’ power. If she caught me, I was dead.

  So I couldn’t let her catch me. I checked the shotgun. A silver slug was chambered. There were another two in the tube, along with three lead slugs. I had my revolver in my pocket—no silver bullets left there—but I doubted I’d get the chance to use it if I missed with the shotgun.

  Nothing else I carried would be more than a distraction. I hadn’t had time to brew up more witch’s fire. Someone had stripped the Mills’ house of anything I could use in a fetish. No hairs, no blood, and sure as hell no urine. Nothing that would give me an edge.

  Hell. It was only an hour until midnight. Wasn’t like I wasn’t planning to live much longer anyway.

  I slipped through the open door.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I kept the shotgun braced against my shoulder as I peered into the dark corners where the moonlight didn’t reach. Slowly, shapes began to resolve. And I realized the entrance hall wasn’t entirely empty.

  A handful of broken, twisted bodies were scattered about the hall like empty coats. Not human bodies. Strangers.

  A few yards off to my right, a creature that looked like a cross between a bear and a ram had been nearly snapped in two, its tail drooping across its horns to cover its dead face. A pack of spriggans had met a similar fate over by the staircase, their wood-like flesh splintered where they’d been torn apart.

  Obviously, some of Alcaraz’s creatures were loose, and they’d run afoul of Mrs. Mills. I wondered if they’d broken free or been released. My guess: Alcaraz had deliberately freed some of her most dangerous specimens and set them on the intruder.

  It hadn’t achieved much.

  A scratching sound came from behind me. I spun around, shotgun pointed toward the front door. Nothing moved.

  I held my breath a few seconds, then exhaled softly. Maybe some of Alcaraz’s creatures had survived. The smarter ones would’ve known better than to tussle with a witch of Mrs. Mills’ power.

  Which made my task even more fun than it already was. Not only did I have to sneak up on a witch and put her down before she could turn me into a pretzel, I had to do it without getting some monster’s claws in my back.

  “Thanks, Alcaraz,” I muttered. “Real helpful.”

  I made my way toward the staircase, heart hammering in my chest. Part of me wanted to sprint straight upstairs, shouting for Early. He could be up there right now, in the witch’s grasp. But I forced myself to move slowly, silently. I’d be no good to anyone dead.

  I paused at the bottom of the main staircase, crouching down by the body of the Stranger lying there. She didn’t look as bestial as the other creatures strewn about the room. In fact, she looked downright pitiful.

  Her flesh was as pale as the
moon. She was lying naked against the bottom step, one arm thrown across her stomach. Her head had been twisted around and around, tearing the flesh and snapping the bones until she’d been effectively decapitated.

  It was the baiter vamp who’d tried to eviscerate me the last time I came here. I was thankful her hair was covering her face. Sure, she’d tried to kill me, but it was in her nature.

  The witch, though, she’d made a choice. She knew what she was doing.

  As I rose, I heard another scrabbling sound behind me. I spun back toward the door.

  Nothing there. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught something slipping through the broken window above. My breath caught in my throat. I raised the shotgun.

  The chandelier creaked above me. I looked up.

  And found five pairs of big yellow eyes staring down at me.

  I let out a strangled cry and swung the gun toward the ceiling. Too slow.

  The redcaps leapt from their perches, dropping from the chandelier to surround me. The other two who’d been creeping in through the broken window dropped down in front of the door, teeth bared.

  The tip of a spear touched my throat while the cold metal of a pistol barrel was pressed against the back of my head. I froze. Only my eyes moved as I took in the goblins surrounding me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  One of the redcaps stepped forward, his iron boots clanking. I don’t want to say all goblins look the same—although they kind of do. This one, though, I seemed to remember from among those that’d captured us in Likho’s chamber.

  On his face, patches of his skin were red and puckered, like he’d been splashed with hot oil. He’d caught some stray drops of witch’s fire. And he looked like the kind of goblin who held a grudge.

  With a hiss, the redcap lowered his spear and touched it to my cheek, just below my right eye. I couldn’t do anything as he reached out and took my shotgun from me.

  “You escaped the Mines, witch,” the redcap hissed. “But you cannot escape the sorcerer’s justice.”

  I shook my head. “Christ, you have bad timing. You have no idea what kind of shit you’ve just walked into.”

  “You were a fool to bring the traitor here with you, witch. The sirin’s call led us right here.”

  Shit. I hadn’t considered that. The curse Likho had cast on Rodetk was powered by a sirin’s magic. Magic that was designed to draw people to it.

  If the redcaps had been able to follow the sirin’s call, that probably meant Rodetk was still alive. Which was good news, I guess.

  Unfortunately, these idiot redcaps were going to get us all killed.

  “You see these corpses?” I said. “You see that door hanging off its hinges? Who do you think did that, and what do you think they’re going to do to you when—”

  “Enough,” the redcap snapped. A couple of the other redcaps had looked around as I spoke, foreheads creasing in concern, but none of them challenged old burn-face. “Our master wants the traitor, and he wants his property back. Lead us to them, and”—the goblin made a face of disgust—“you will be allowed to live.”

  “What property?”

  “The little one! The little one you sent your familiar to abduct.”

  “Hell,” I said. I would’ve shaken my head in frustration if there weren’t so many spear points digging into me. “You idiots still think it was me who did that?”

  The redcap jerked forward, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated. His nostrils flared. “I know the little one is here, witch. I can smell it. I know the scent of the creature whose blood made me. Take us to it, or we will kill you and find it oursel—”

  The muscles of his neck bulged. There was a loud crack, like a branch being snapped in two, and suddenly I was staring at the back of the goblin’s head.

  He crumpled. His head had spun 180 degrees on his shoulders in an instant.

  The other redcaps began to contort. Arms bent backward, snapping like twigs. Spines cracked. The only sound, aside from the breaking of bones, was the hiss of air escaping from lungs.

  I stood frozen in place, watching in horror as the redcaps collapsed dead around me. The two goblins who’d been guarding the door folded back like Christmas cards, their heads touching the backs of their knees.

  “Filthy creatures,” came a voice from the landing at the top of the stairs.

  Sudden fire burned through the back of my calf. In his deathly contortions, one of the redcaps had sliced into my leg with his spear. I toppled, my leg suddenly unable to hold my weight.

  But the pain brought me to life. As I hit the floor, I snatched Early’s shotgun out of the hand of the dead redcap and I swung it around, aiming at the landing.

  Mrs. Mills sat in her wheelchair at the top of the stairs, looking down at me. She manipulated something in her hand as the redcaps twisted themselves to death.

  I closed one eye and pulled the trigger. The shotgun kicked against my shoulder. I sent a slug of silver flying toward the wife of Brandon Mills.

  It gouged a chunk out of the banister a foot to the left of her. I racked the shotgun, adjusted my aim.

  And then my body was no longer my own. My treacherous arm snapped to the side, flinging the shotgun away. My muscles tensed of their own accord. I felt like a puppet as I was hauled to my feet, my body heedless of the pain flaring in my calf.

  Mrs. Mills stared down at me with cold eyes. I stood to attention, my arms pressed to my sides. Every muscle in my body quivered, ready to tear me apart. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  “Mr. Turner,” she said. “I was hoping to see you. Come with me.”

  As if I had a fucking choice.

  36

  I jerked my way up the stairs like a marionette being controlled by a drunken puppeteer.

  I couldn’t even look down to see where I was putting my feet—or where Mrs. Mills was putting my feet. My head was locked in position, staring up at the witch waiting at the top of the stairs. I wondered how she’d got up there in the first place, with the wheelchair and all.

  I decided I’d rather not know.

  My leg throbbed in agony with each step. I could feel blood sticking my jeans to my calf where the redcap’s spear had cut me. I wanted to grab the banister to take some of the weight off, but I couldn’t even do that.

  Sweat was pouring down my face by the time I reached the top of the stairs. I loomed over Mrs. Mills in her electric wheelchair. Even if she’d still had legs, I would’ve been a foot taller than her. I could’ve picked her up and thrown her down the stairs without a problem.

  But my arms remained fixed to my sides, no matter how hard I strained. I tried to open my mouth, to say something. But I couldn’t even move my jaw.

  She looked up at me through her one cataract-clouded eye, studying me with cold, clinical precision. I couldn’t read her face. If she had any emotion left, she’d buried it deep.

  There was something in her hand. A complex fetish made of sticks and string. As she ran her fingers across it, touching different parts in turn, I could feel muscles tensing and relaxing across my body.

  Without a word, she touched the controls of her wheelchair, turning around in place. She started off down the hallway, and a moment later my legs began their jerky walk once more, carrying me after her.

  “The hag told us about you,” she said. Her voice was quiet, with a dry rasp to it. “After you attacked Brandon. She cackled like mad when she heard that we’d hired you to find the hobgoblin. She likes her little jokes.”

  We headed down a long, dark corridor lined with taxidermied Strangers. Glass eyes stared down at me as we went deeper into the manor.

  “If Brandon had known,” the witch said, “he wouldn’t have done what he did to you. He told me that, before the end. He wanted to apologize. And to say he’s sorry about your brother.” She paused. “So am I.”

  She didn’t sound it. She didn’t sound like she knew what sorry was anymore.

  “But
it’s good you’re here now,” she continued in the same soft rasp. “You, of all people, understand why Brandon and I have to do this. You understand the pain.” She stopped before a door, turned her wheelchair to face me. “My name is Holly, by the way. I don’t think my husband ever told you that.”

  Suddenly, I found I could open my mouth. From the neck down, my body was still out of my control, but now I could speak.

  “Don’t do this,” I said.

  She turned her head to the side with an achingly slow movement. I’d spoken quietly; either her deafness had been feigned or she’d read my lips.

  “The hag told us what you did when those monsters took your brother,” she said. “You took your revenge. Now we’re taking ours.” She turned her clouded eye away from me, like she was looking out beyond the walls of the manor. “They live out there, underground, creeping about in the dark. Taking our children. Our babies, Mr. Turner. They took my son. They have to be stopped.”

  “This isn’t the way. All the people you’ve hurt—”

  “What about the people they’ve hurt? The things they took from us. Brandon and I tried for years before we had Michael. We’d nearly given up hope of ever having a child of our own. And when he came, I loved him more than I thought possible.” She looked at me. “And he was taken. Taken by monsters. Creatures out of old fairy tales. This isn’t their world. It’s ours. And we’re going to make it a better one.”

  “You cracked open your husband’s chest,” I said slowly, “and carved out his heart. You lost a son, and doubled down on the tragedy by killing your husband as well.”

  “The spell required a broken heart,” she said dismissively. “I thought you understood sacrifice. My husband did. He was brave. He was willing to die for his son.”

  “Yeah? And how did that help Michael?”

  For an instant, a flicker of emotion broke through the stillness of her face. Pain and anger flashed behind her eye.